


What Plagues Me So

by StarsOfMari



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsOfMari/pseuds/StarsOfMari
Summary: Harry has lived his life, to an extent. It's been 19 long years, since Voldemort's demise and his scar hurts him no longer. He's got a loving family, so he's the happiest man in the world, right?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley





	What Plagues Me So

**Author's Note:**

> Let's get this clear! I do not own Harry Potter (even though I wish I did).
> 
> Also, death is mentioned quite a lot, or, it heavily alludes towards the idea of death, so if you can't handle reading that, I would suggest for you to leave immediately.
> 
> I've mostly written this to express how I feel, because I'm currently struggling with my own mental health at the moment, so if this seems very OOC for Harry, that's probably why.
> 
> Moreover, I do not condone the idea of ending your life at all. Life is a precious gift we've all been given and if you are struggling or know someone who is struggling with anything, and I mean anything, please look into the idea of seeking out help. It can be a friend, a family member, or a professional, but sometimes just talking to someone makes it better. It won't make how you're feeling disappear right away, but it may soothe you a bit, so that you can see another day where you can learn more and experience more in this world.
> 
> Much Love, Mari.

Harry Potter was absolutely fine.

He was a married man, as were his best friends. Like them, he also had children of his own. He had his own family. Something that he had longed for so, so very long.

He was happy and delighted and there was nothing he could ever want more of.

So when he found himself inside Grimmauld Place, alone, he was confused. Everything was as it was when he had left it, if not, a bit cleaner. It was as dark and gloomy as it had been before - maybe even more so now- and Walburga Black’s portrait still hung on the wall by the door, and yet, when he walked in, she did not make a sound. When he thought about it more, there was nothing but silence in the residence. Even the floorboards at his feet did not creak and groan, so when he turned around he couldn’t help but jump at the shadowed figure that stood a good distance away.

It was small and ragged and was trembling every so slightly and Harry was plagued again by the thoughts that often visited him, on occasion. They were so tiresome to listen to, so he squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, the figure had walked a good distance forward and was bathed in the faint light that had spread about the home.

“Kreacher?” Harry managed to say and he was surprised at how choked up his voice sounded. Why was it that he was feeling this way so often? It hadn't always been that way. . . Or maybe it had and it wasn’t as prominent?

“Master has returned! Yes, Master Potter has said that he would, but Kreacher did not think he would be back so soon. . .” The house elf’s voice was raspy and shaky and Harry knelt down onto his knees and ran a hand on the polished floorboards. They were so clean. So shiny and spotless and yet so dark and bleak. The thoughts returned to his mind so Harry scrunched up his face, not willing to look Kreacher in the eyes.

“Why were you waiting, Kreacher?” _So pitiful and small he was_ , thought Harry about himself. His body was thinner than when he had last looked at himself in the mirror, or maybe it had always been this thin. Was that why so many people looked at him strangely? Were they enamored? Were they amazed? He wiggled his fingers and he could see the outlines of his bones that were struggling to protrude from beneath the thin layer of skin.

“Master said that he’d come back.”

Harry frowned.  
“I never said that.”

“Oh, but Master did. Master always does, always. . .” Kreacher began muttering.

“No. I’ve never been here before, not since. . . Since. . .” He shook his head and waved a hand at the house elf. “I haven’t told you to wait.”

“But Master-”

“I’ve never been here before now. I know that.” Harry said, mostly to himself. “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t know what I’m doing, Kreacher?”

“No, Master. But Master has said that he’s been here-”

“Perhaps you’re imagining things, Kreacher.” Harry said, his lips pressed tightly together as he brushed his fingers against the smooth floor. It was so smooth. So shiny and flat. So simple.

Simple.

“Would you make me some tea, Kreacher?” He asked, randomly. Harry heard him pop away and when he lifted his eyes off of the floor, he met the face of Walburga Black.

Her lips were pulled into a sick sneer that marred her already lousy looks.

“Well, if it isn’t the _Half-blood._ ” She sniped. “Thought you would never return. You’ve been leaving that pathetic elf roaming the halls since you’ve last came.”

Harry refrained himself from rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so convinced I’ve been here before. Maybe the world can finally prove that portraits can go senile.”

She scoffed. “You’ve been making yourself comfortable in this house. _My home_ , if you haven’t forgotten. The least you could do is show some respect you half-. . . boy.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders and situated himself on the floor before her portrait and ignored her indignant sigh. He went back to playing with the floorboards and when Kreacher returned with a cup of tea he accepted it with a muttered “thank you”.

Harry brought the cup to his lips and took small sips as he watched Kreacher through the folds of his hair that seemed to like to block his eyes, frequently. The elf was shifting his feet and it was so uncharacteristic of him that Harry couldn’t stop himself from saying:

“What’s wrong with you?”

Kreacher stopped his movements and he turned a shaking head to Harry and looked him in the eyes. It was done in such a way that it made Harry feel so vile and wrong and the thoughts seemed to return to him in that moment. They whispered, tormented, and laughed wicked things into his ear that he barely heard Kreacher reply.

“Kreacher is fine, Master. He is just anxious to see you again.”

Harry fiddled with the handle of the tea cup and thought of pouring the scorching tea on himself. It didn’t sound like the most wonderful idea, but these thoughts, the ones that would never ust let him be, returned so he gave into one of them and spilled onto his lap.

The pain was instantaneous, but he did not cry out, not even when Walburga and Kreacher began speaking to him in distressed tones. He just focused on the heat that seeped into his skin. It was prickly and sharp. He clenched his hands into fists and he brought them to his thighs and pressed the scorching liquid deeper into his skin. It burned, oh yes, it burned immensely, but it was better than before. It was better than listening to the thoughts, but they came back when he stopped pressing into his legs.

 _Let go_ , they said.

_You’ve exceeded your limit. There is no place for you here._

_Your limit is reached. . ._

_Your limit is reached._

He ran a hand down his face and it was then that he noticed that he was crying. Or was that some tea from his hands? It was all the same anyways.

Harry looked up to see Kreacher watching him with wide eyes. He had not moved from his standing position. Walburga was strangely silent, as Harry could have sworn he had heard her familiar screeching. Such a familiar sound.

“I’ve been here before.” He whispered. No one said anything, but he didn’t expect them to, after all, they had let him talk all he wanted. “I’ve been here numerous times.”

“You have," Walburga agreed.

“I have," He echoed.

Silence settled in and he began picking at his, now, drenched pants. He pinched the clothing between his fingers and -every now and then- he would dig his fingers unnecessarily hard into his leg. Harry knew they were both watching him, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He just felt so slow. So agonizingly slow with languid movements that didn’t even make sense, more often than not. It was when he continued his fixated work that he caught sight of a glint on his left hand.

He halted his repeated movements and stared at his hand. More specifically, his left ring finger. There laid a golden, glimmering ring, that fit so loose on his hand that it only further proved his earlier suspicions. Harry ran a finger over the jewelry and found himself thinking of Ginny. Sweet Ginny who cared about him. . .

“She doesn’t know.”

“She does not,” Walburga admitted.

“And. . . What does she think I’m doing when I leave?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

Walburga said nothing and Harry frowned again, playing with the ring on his finger as he did so. It was so small and yet held so much significance. A promise of love, caring, and a lifetime of commitment.

_A lifetime._

“What if I can’t keep this up?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Was Walburga’s answer.

“Because. . . Because I- I don’t-” He dropped his hands into his lap and shut his eyes as another onslaught of thoughts intruded his mind.

“I want to be- I want to be free of this. I don’t want it anymore.” _Did I ever?_ Was his own question to himself and it was easy to answer. No, no he did not, but perhaps it was better him than someone else, because other lives that were not his own like Ron, Hermione, Ginny and even Malfoy did not deserve such things. No, they deserved so much more. And Harry, he himself, he didn’t need such things, no. He didn’t deserve the happiness they now received. The contentment of their new lives. Harry didn’t need that. He only needed to make Ginny, his friends, his children, and the public happy.

If they were smiling, all was well.

If he got to see a smile on their faces, all was perfect.

Simply perfect.

“And how will you solve that?”

Easy. It was such an easy response and yet he feared to voice it. The thing he longed for, he was also so deeply afraid of.

“Dying.”

“Will you?” That was Kreacher and Harry might’ve cared if it was 19 years earlier, but now, he being an older man, living far longer than he wanted to. . . It was all too easy.

He said nothing and shoved himself off of the floor roughly and made his way to the stairs. They didn’t call to him, nor follow, so he quickened his pace, until he found himself sitting on a bed that he remembered so clearly. The one he had slept on when he was a measly 5th year. He smiled a bitter smile and brought out his wand. The wand that had saved him countless times, even when he had not wanted it to.

He twirled it in his hands and finally rested the tip of it at his neck. It was strangely cold at its end or maybe that was the spell that was formulating already at his thoughts. He thought of the incantation and in his mind he saw the way it was used. Yes, he was very familiar with this spell. It wouldn’t be hard, not at all. He heard a woman screaming, a body’s thud against the ground, a grunt of surprise. . . He could do it, for it was so effortless.

He whispered the incantation and when he did he could hear the door being ripped open and a flash of red hair, but he felt nothing. His body fell against the pillows and his vision was enveloped in darkness and he had never felt so comfortable in his life. It was so nice and quiet.

It was so perfect that he laid there with a smile and the spell that illuminated the room was the same color as when you would look into his eyes. He felt so thankful in the last second he was alive that he could properly learn how to use the spell.

It was so easy.

So incredibly easy.

**Author's Note:**

> This not completely accurate to Harry Potter with the character's I've used and my reason fro that is because I came up with this on the spot and it's a comfort to myself in how i wrote the characters. The characters are basically myself talking to Harry (who is myself, as well) in a way that describes my mental health pretty clearly.
> 
> Anyways, my dear friend of mine recommended that I do something to express myself, as she said it may make me feel a bit better, and it did. Thank you, for that. I love you.


End file.
